


It Takes a Village

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Falling in love... through song, Flashbacks, Freeform, I know they were off the enterprise for five years, I was too inspired not to write, It’s for your tragic backstory, M/M, So I imagine 2 yrs into that wait your baby died, Timeline Shenanigans, Trauma, You and Spock and Kirk have a baby, You’re all parents, and now you guys are about to come back on the enterprise, correct me on Spock like behavior y’all pls, domestic abuse, im really sorry y’all I know literally notging, literally yesterday okay, mmgngnndjsjss Okay so I joined the fandom like yesterday, not from Spock or Kirk!, set in 2018, so I know all almost nothing, so y’all are gonna be w me as I learn, soooo, they love you, youre a communications officer, ’Modern’ AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-17 01:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14177694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: You hadn’t been taking very good care of yourself after the death of your child three years ago. It was a tragic, terrible event that you never quite got over— but then Jim and Spock and yet another child show up in your life and it’s difficult to handle. You start to love the baby as your own, and you start to love your Commanders, too.





	It Takes a Village

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spring Blossom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14058126) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



You awoke with a start in your bed, sweating profusely and choking on a lump in your throat. The sheets felt too hot and you felt like you were on fire, burning bright once again. Tears, too hot too, streamed down your face and you swiped at them angrily.

“It’s been three years,” you said to the open air, voice wavering. “three years.”

The room was dark, as it always is. It was night, too, but your curtains were drawn and you found yourself ambling desperately to the window to lean against the cold glass and sigh in the colder moonlight filtering past a hazy window.

You could really use a bottle of whiskey right now.

Flashes— flashes of that godforsaken night burn like stars into your mind and _God,_ everything around you seems to be _burning._ You, in your sheets— the pitiful light you flipped on your way to the window; the moon, glowing piteously above; and your baby. Your poor, poor baby. Your sweet little Anita, trapped in that crib.

 _She would be four,_ you think, sliding down your wall with a dull _thunk._ She would be four. 

Your mangled skin, wrinkled and pink with burns, stares back at you.  
——  
Three even knocks. An old friend, calling for you.

“Coming,” you think you say, stumbling amicably to the door. “coming.”

It unlocks (you don’t even remember opening it?) and there stands a slightly tense Spock (and even while drunk you can read him. His shoulders are raised slightly and he looks far more intense than usual.) carrying boxes and a visibly harried Jim rocking a baby.

You flush cold, dropping the near empty bottle of vodka (85%) you had produced earlier. Suddenly you don’t feel all that drunk.

“Jim…” you begin cautiously, your tongue cotton in your mouth. “what. is. _that.”_

“An infant,” Spock supplies helpfully. “may we come in?”

“No.” You growl. The door shuts forcefully behind you.

Except it doesn’t, because Jim’s stuck his stupid foot in it. “We need your help,” he breathes, flexing his foot. “you’re the only one who knows how to take care of a baby.”

You attempt to shut the door again. This time, Spock holds it open. “We are aware of your former parenthood and the proceeding disaster,” he says, ignoring or missing Jim’s wince. “but we value your expertise in this subject as we are lacking experience ourselves. Despite there being infants on the Enterprise, I fear neither of us have the knowledge required to keep… awake infants happy and healthy constantly. That, considering our jobs—“

“I got it,” you growled again, hoping you looked as furious as you felt. Spock looked slightly perturbed being interrupted, but you had something to say about that. “and I don’t care. Bones has got a kid.”

“He is also hours away.”

You turned to Jim. “Ask Nyota.”

“She referred us to you.” Jim’s blue eyes widened helplessly, a pitiful look on his face. “Please?”

“Nyota knows what happened to my baby. She would never,” you snarled, unable to keep the anxiety out of your voice. “she would never do that to me.”

Jim and Spock exchange a look. 

“Please,” Jim pleads. “I couldn’t let her go. She’ll go through the foster system without us— and I can’t put anyone through that. You know that, (Y/N). And— and— we can’t do this without you, alright? Look at her. Isn’t she sweet?”

Jim turns the baby to you. 

The first thing you notice is her sparsely covered head. It’s littered with curls, dark and thick in patches. Her skin is a deep earthy color and her eyes are completely black. The iris is indistinguishable from the pupil, and before you can say anything, Spock nods and says, “Half Betazoid.”

You love her. Instantly, you love her, her dark skin and dark eyes, her chubby little feet and chubbier arms. She isn’t smiling, but she’s radiating waves of comfort and happiness and suddenly your knees feel a little weak. You grip the door frame for support as a wave of fear and terrible, terrible sadness washes over you.

“I can’t—“ you through your hand in the air in frustration, rubbing your face tiredly. “I can’t have another baby, you guys. I just can’t.”

“We are the best trio suited for managing this child,” Spock said, stepping slightly closer to you. “you and Jim are freer with your emotions, whereas I am not. However, I possess a greater alien knowledge regarding Betazoid’s telepathic and empathic behavior.” His voice grew softer. “Jim is more… emotionally stable, but you possess actual child-rearing knowledge. So we beg of you. Please assist us.”

You sigh. How could you possibly resist that? 

“Come on in.”

The relief draining out of Jim is palpable as he rushes eagerly inside. He begins speaking to you, recounting all the baby supplies he bought (a floating crib, four different pacifiers, two knitted blankets, a pair of cat booties, a cat themed hat, nearly five different onesies, two boxes of diapers and multiple bags of ready-make formula) and what Spock had told him about Betazoids.

You watch him for a moment, surprised at his enthusiasm. “You’re… really into this, huh?”’you say, watching him coo at the baby and shake its little hand.

His ears turn pink. “Y—yeah, I may have gotten a little excited at the store.”

Spock gives Jim a little look and his face flushes this time. “Okay, maybe a little more than excited.”

“What’s her name?” Spock sets everything up for you, watching carefully as you stick one of your fingers in her tiny little hand. She reminds you so much of your baby it hurts.

“We had not picked one yet,” the Vulcan replies, exchanging yet another look with Jim.

“What?” It’s hard not to act incredulous. Granted, you’ve no idea how this baby even landed in their arms, but were they planned on calling her _baby_ forever?

Jim, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Ah, yeah. The note— it didn’t really, um, come with a name or anything.”

A note. You see.

“Well,” you say, carding your hand through her thick hair. “do you have any ideas?”

“Do you?” Jim shoots back, and his intent is clear.

You’re too tired, too drunk to argue with him about getting attached. Giving her a name would be getting attached. It would make her yours. 

But it’s just like you said. You’re too tired, too drunk to argue. 

A little sigh escapes you. “Neela.” There’s a pregnant pause. “We’ll call her Neela.”  
——  
Spock sets up a lot of things in your room.

“Entirely transportable,” he assures you, he and the baby feeling your anxiety at the sight of cribs and mobiles. “in our haste, we brought most of our supplies here. We do live next door to you, so you may visit Neela anytime.”

“Of course,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. You’re currently showing Jim how to properly rock a baby, though you suspect by the look on his face this is one of the things he does know how to do. He lets you hold her, though. He knows you need this more than he.

Neela pushes wave after wave of contentment at you. She’s so happy she could probably burst, though you can feel hunger nipping at the edge of her satisfaction. You have her loosely swaddled in a baby burrito. She’s warm, delightfully so, and for a moment you’re back in your house with your baby, smiling down on your newborn’s patchy red face and almost naked head. “The hair will grow in,” you always said, stroking her soft baby down. A year later, it had. She’s not doing much growing now.

A tear splashes down on Neela’s face. She fusses, promoting you to abruptly pass her into Jim’s arms and shuffle frantically into the kitchen.

 _Calm down, calm down,_ you chant, curling your palms tightly into fists. _It’s been three years. It’s been three years._

Somehow, that revelation makes it worse; a sob you couldn’t choke back sounds deafening in the quiet of your kitchen. Your hands shake as you pour yourself a glass of water, and it’s nearly impossible to press you lips to the cup and drink.

“(Y/N)?” Comes Jim’s concerned voice and you take a few minutes before speaking.

“Yeah?” Your voice cracks anyway. Damn it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your lip trembles. You feel like a child.

He takes your silence as a no, and shuffles closer. “I’m going to hug you now,” he says carefully, not yet moving. “is that alright?”

You don’t say anything, just take a little step closer to him, still facing forward.

Jim wraps you in his arms, all warm and protective, and suddenly you’re on fire for an entirely different reason than earlier. Your tears still come, thick and hot, and you let yourself cry in Jim’s arms.  
——  
Spock glances away from the scene in your kitchen, you sobbing openly and Jim slowly tightening his hold around you. He can hear his Ashayam whisper in your ear, chin propped on your shoulder. It bothers him minutely.

You are emotionally compromised at this moment. Of that, Spock is clearly aware, but he does not wish to become the “third-wheel” in this situation, which he can see rapidly occurring if Jim will have to stick him with Neela to attend to any emotional outbursts. 

He is glad to be with Neela. She is very cute.

Spock reviews the situation. A child showed up rather mysteriously on their doorstep only a few nights ago. Jim jumped through surprisingly little hoops to gain temporary foster care of Neela. Spock would have believed the move was on impulse had he not suggested you as an unofficial custodian.

That was before he was aware of the loss of your previous child. Now, though, watching you cry with Jim, he is skeptical.

What Spock does believe is that this plan is entirely too convoluted with much room to go wrong. He appreciates Jim’s humanitarianism, though he suspects you will not. 

“We have to get her out of the house, or happy, or something,” Jim had told him. “she drinks herself stupid in her room every day.” Jim had expressed his desire to help you mourn and recover from the death of your firstborn, as you had become increasingly aware of your deteriorating mental and physical state over the years, nightmares and being grounded with no clear instructions taking its toll.

Jim is not naïve. He does not think putting another child in your hands will be the easy, or quick, fix to borderline-irreparable trauma. But he wishes to try and get you the help you are so adamantly forgoing in favor of “drowning” your problems in alcohol. The child—Neela— would be a good way to show you it would be okay to let others back in your life once more.

Spock still remains skeptical. There is a sort of help neither of them can provide, though he will stand with you and Jim ‘till the end.

Neela grabs his fingers with a surprising strength. She coos, kicking her legs and bombarding him with raw joy. Spock sends a wave back, lips quirking slightly in a smile.  
——  
Crying fit over, face streaked with tear tracks but dry, you resume your position with the child. 

Jim sits with Spock, the two chatting amiably by eyeing you the whole way. 

She’s fussy now, disturbed and upset with the emotional imbalance in the atmosphere. Her eyes squeeze shut with tears and she whimpers, little legs flailing.

“Hush, little baby,” you whisper, a sad smile over your face. “I think a lullaby is in order.”

Neela perks up a little at that, fluttering one eye heavy with tears and dark with lashes open at you.

Rocking Neela in your arms, you begin to sing, “You make… everything brighter, you burn so hot even the bravest fighter fighter would turn back… you make my heart lighter, my love for you will never tire…” 

She doesn’t say anything. It’s too early for her to laugh or smile just yet, you think— but she nuzzles closer to your hand, and your heart positively aches. Neela is happy, you can feel it. 

“Is that…” Jim begins, and you nod rapidly, heart swelling with emotion.

“Yeah. Yeah.” You sniffle, wiping a tear away from your eye and stroking Neela’s hair. “But now it’s for her.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I know absolutely nothing about Star Trek. Watch me dip all my fingers in toes in mysterious pies with unknown contents on mysterious tables and then clip dangerously towards the sun.
> 
> Edit: y’all, I feel so dumb, I totally forgot to erase my authors notes as I worked MAKSKSJDKS


End file.
